First Rule
by Writer is Ninja
Summary: Eames is the first male Slayer in... ages. AU, obviously.


Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me. Buffy: the Vampire Slayer does not belong to me. Copyright infringement is not intended.

A/N:

**Warning:** I have mild dyslexia and dyscalculia. There may be small grammatical errors and large mathematical ones.

Summary: Eames is the first male Slayer in… ages. AU, obviously.

_First Rule

* * *

_____

"So we'll move back to my homeland, America. Someplace warm, though. California, I think; that should be warm enough. The real estate, though…"

She ended up asking a friend from the internet that lived in California; it turned out that a small town near L.A. called Sunnydale had amazing real estate rates, rates good enough that they couldn't have been found anywhere near a major city otherwise. Eames' Mum was thrilled. California, New York and Massachusetts were the top three most expensive states, in that order or not, and she'd grown up in Massachusetts so she knew how bad the property could be. Luckily, she'd also sold it when her mother died for quite a bit, so she still had plenty of money saved. Now she was selling her grandmother's, a small Campanili that she loved, as well. They'd used to vacation there, both having dual citizenship.

His Mum had opened up a new art gallery while she wrote… well, supernatural thrillers that were apparently selling better in America. It wasn't that they were _poor_, per say, but they weren't _rich_ either. Eames bought his clothes at thrift stores simply because that was what his mother had done.

He told Principal Flutie about how he'd been smoking, and the experience of setting a building on fire was so traumatic he'd quit cold turkey. Apparently a sucker for a sad story, he'd stricken it from Eames' record. It was, of course, true that he'd lit the gym up with a cigarette, but the cigarette was Pike's. You couldn't smoke all of the time and keep in top condition. Well, maybe a Slayer could – accelerated healing and all – but he rarely had one anyway. It was hard to get him stressed.

This Slayer thing was… odd. The first thing he'd done was tell his Mum. Instead of throwing him into an institution, she'd asked Merrick how long her baby had to live. It was an eye-opening experience, learning the Slayer life-expectancy. He'd never expected to live long anyway (poker and forging papers), but a year was a bit _too _little. And then Merrick was dead, as _he_ had nearly been. Lothos was… he didn't even want to talk about it. Thank God and the Queen for underground fighting rings he'd been in to make money back when they _were_ poor – and even after, for the thrill, he'd admit. That training and about a dozen or so attempted muggings had probably save his life.

"Sorry about that," the young woman smiled, helping him pick up his things. "I'm Miss Benoit, the computer and art teacher, so you'll probably see me later. Do you need a pass to get to class on time?"

"That would be great, thanks. I just can't _find_ the place."

"Let me see your schedule." He handed it over. "Jefferson. _He's_ a windbag. Well, you go that way and then it's four doors on your left," she pointed.

"Thanks Miss Benoit," Eames smiled as she scribbled a note.

"No problem. If you get lost again, just erase and rewrite the time. I wrote it in pencil."

Eames grinned. Miss Benoit shared the smile; she knew what it was to be a kid in high school. She'd used to do that to skip all the time.

"Just don't skip more than half the class on your first day," she smirked.

"That is one _cool_ teacher," Eames shook his head as she walked away.

* * *

Jefferson _was_ a windbag, but on the plus side he met Yusuf, who he was sharing a book with for now. His friend Robert was sort of shy, but Eames supposed that's what happened when your parent was a politician that wanted you to follow in his footsteps _and_ an arsehole. Robert was also practically a genius, and that had nothing to do with his (lack of) parenting. He had promised to tutor Eames – who had dyscalculia – through math. He _knew_ math (poker), but it was hard to get the numbers to stay _straight_. If he was given an oral exam he'd probably pass, and this was written into his new 504 Plan.

Cordelia Chase was a bitch, but she was fun to verbally spar with. Yusuf was right on that point. He promised himself to keep that avenue open. She liked to mock his clothes, where he didn't see any problem with paisley; he'd mocked her hair in turn.

* * *

It was the end of the day, now. He wanted to just go home and collapse, maybe meet Yusuf and Robert at the Bronze later, but he had to get his books from the library first.

Vampyre.

"Actually I was looking for school texts, mate, but that's not a bad idea to have," Eames blinked. "Mum'll be thrilled at the research material, anyway."

"Your mother _knows_?" the man asked.

"Sure. They didn't tell you? Merrick knew that."

"His journals haven't been processed yet," the man sighed after a moment. "I'm Dominic Cobb, just Cobb to you. Have you been training?"

"A bit. Bit busy unpacking boxes, you know."

"Right, well, we'll have to start on your training right away. You'll need more than what Merrick gave you in the… time he had, if you want to survive."

"But not tonight," Eames stipulated. "Tonight I have to talk to my Mum."

Dom sighed.

* * *

"Damn. I thought we could escape this Slayer shit," Roxanne "Anne" Eames sighed. "Oh well; at least you'll know how to fight better. You come home to me, okay?"

"I'll try, Mum. Oh! Research material."

"Nice," Anne whistled, looking at the leather-bound tome. "You can't research to save your life, so I'll tell you the important parts. First rule of this house, though, baby? Don't die. Now, do you have homework?"

"Yeah," Eames sighed.

"Homework on your first day," she shook her head. "Go out with whatever friends you made – you make them everywhere. I'll forge your handwriting this once."


End file.
